When I read my supervisor’s latest message, apologizing again for forgetting to do what he said he would, I immediately felt the familiar wave of frustration come over me. My co-intern and I had been waiting for his response for hours. We had been staring at the ‘read’ receipt from our supervisor, growing more stressed by the minute. I could already hear my professor’s voice in my head, reminding me of one of the most common pitfalls of an internship experience.
Do not blame someone else if something goes wrong. Take ownership of your experience. That advice was harder to follow than I wanted it to be.
At that point in my internship, I felt justified in my frustration. This wasn’t the first time my supervisor had dropped the ball, and I was certain it wouldn’t be the last.
He had promised that he would reserve the building for our English class. But despite the many reminders, he waited too long. The building was already reserved for something else.
I felt helpless and frustrated, completely walled in. Where were the resources and support I thought I would have when I signed up for this internship?
I had never anticipated that my supervisor would be so unhelpful and unreliable. Where were the results of all my hard work and effort?
No matter what I tried, it seemed my supervisor would forget something or stop responding when we needed him most.
I blamed him for this most recent problem. And I blamed him for a lot of the other problems we’d been experiencing in our internship so far.
I felt frustrated with myself for trusting him again. He’d proven time and again that he was not to be relied on.
But I was also starting to realize that staying stuck in that frustration was not going to solve this latest derailment of our plans.
I was in the second month of my internship with LDS Self-Reliance Services in Mendoza, Argentina. My roommate and co-intern, Shania, and I had spent our first month trying to find meaningful ways to contribute. But our supervisor had not assigned us projects or given us access to the resources we needed.
He responded to less than half of our messages.
We got used to being left on ‘read’ for days at a time.
Knowing that we needed access to the accounts and resources that other interns had used before us, we asked him for those resources regularly, assuming that friendly reminders and a bit of patience would solve the problem. They did not.
We got to the point where we were simply trying to fill our hours however we could, hoping things would eventually fall into place. We thought that with enough time, something had to start going right.
That approach was disheartening and unsustainable. Trying over and over to get the support that we needed and hitting up against a wall every time we tried was becoming exhausting. Shania and I began to realize that continuing as we were was a risk we could not afford to take.
An entire month had already passed. We had been left on ‘read’ one too many times to keep hoping that direction would eventually come. We needed hours to get internship credit, but more than that, we wanted to actually do the work we came to Argentina to do. So we shifted our approach. Instead of asking and waiting for direction, we planned.
We sat down together and mapped out what was realistically within our control and what was not. If our supervisor wouldn’t assign us any tasks or projects, we would just have to create them ourselves.
I proposed starting an advanced English class for students preparing for professional or academic advancement. Shania proposed an emotional resilience class for youth.
We talked through logistics, potential challenges, and risks. Who would gather contact information. How we would advertise. How we would structure lessons. What would happen if attendance was low. What would happen if it was high.
We divided responsibilities based on our strengths and committed to owning the outcome together.
The only thing we could not do ourselves was reserve a building. That was an inherent risk we could not eliminate. Our supervisor was the one with the building coordinator’s contact information and access to the building schedule. We chose to transfer that risk to our supervisor and accept that we could not control it.
At the time, that felt reasonable.
When we finally caught him after church the next Sunday, he seemed genuinely enthusiastic. He gave us verbal approval to go ahead with our ideas and told us he would handle the building reservation.
Walking away, Shania and I felt cautiously optimistic. For the first time, it felt like momentum.
Over the next week, we worked relentlessly. We advertised at events, sent out invitations, built a group chat, created a curriculum, prepared lessons, and double-checked attendance. The success of the class depended on us, and we treated it that way.
What we did not do was verify the building reservation. We had accepted that risk without mitigation.
An hour before the class, we learned the building was not available. Our supervisor hadn’t asked until the morning of the first class, and the building was already reserved.
Standing there, Shania and I had a choice. We could cancel English class and risk losing credibility with the students, or we could adapt quickly and imperfectly. This was the moment where frustration could have taken over.
I was angry. I wanted to blame my supervisor. I felt justified in doing so. But blaming him would not solve the immediate problem in front of us.
We chose to move forward, doing our best with what we had. We rerouted the class to the Self-Reliance Services office, rearranged furniture, brought in extra chairs, and asked a friend to redirect students as they arrived at the original building.
It was not ideal. It was not polished. But it worked.
That first English class was a success not because things went smoothly, but because we had planned enough that we could adapt when they did not.
The outcome felt earned.
We had owned the responsibility for its success even when it would have been much easier to blame its failure on our supervisor.
From that point on, Shania and I became much more intentional planners. Not only because we couldn't rely on our supervisor, but also because being proactive was simply good practice.
We anticipated risks earlier.
We verified information ourselves.
We divided tasks clearly.
We persisted in communication, agreeing to check in with each other frequently about our projects.
Our intentionality became our greatest strength.
When we later planned the emotional resilience classes, we applied what we had learned from the English classes. When our supervisor offered to handle advertising, we recognized the risk and chose a different strategy.
We accepted responsibility instead of hoping for a different outcome, taking over the advertising ourselves. We reserved a building, talked to parents and youth about what they hoped for from the class, and managed any risks we could foresee.
Those classes ran smoothly, and the success felt calmer, more sustainable.
That eventual success did not erase all my earlier frustration, but because I had taken responsibility for my internship, I was better able to reframe that frustration.
The last day of my internship arrived. As I was packing up my things, preparing to leave, I thought back on the first couple of weeks at my internship. Contrasting how I felt then with how I felt now, I realized I had changed the feeling of helplessness into one of confidence – confidence in my ability to take control of my own experience. This internship taught me how easy it is to get stuck wanting to blame someone else when things don't work out. It also taught me that blame rarely serves productivity. I learned how to acknowledge frustration without letting it dictate my actions. I learned how to manage risk rather than react to it. I learned that waiting on ‘read’ for someone else to solve a problem is often the biggest risk of all. Most importantly, I learned the value of strong collaboration with those you can count on. Shania and I were effective because we trusted each other, planned intentionally, and chose to move forward even when circumstances were imperfect.
I still think about that lesson when someone says, “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” Now, I thank them sincerely, and then I verify anyway. Not out of distrust, but out of responsibility.